Chasing Dragons
by TheWillOfMythal
Summary: When Piper abandons her, Alex tries to deal with the loss and anger and grief in the way she knows best, and with the aid of something extra. Warnings for mentions of drug abuse.


Hello everyone!

So, since I'm still taking my time about starting with the new season and just enjoying some older episodes and scenes, I decided to give a try to another draft of an idea I've been thinking about, regarding the after-breakup and how Alex might have handled it.

I admit that I was a bit disappointed by that flashback that they showed us in season three and I don't know if it is because either Alex was deliberately exaggerating - which doesn't really seem like her - when she was in that AA meeting at the beginning of season one, saying how "heroin has been her best girlfriend" etc just because Piper was there and she wanted her to know. I guess I just expected something a bit more... substantial let say, about "Alex's drugs-period" than what the writers of the show have come up with in that episode in season three. Something that included a bigger window, a much longer period during which she actually _abused_ drugs and not like in that flashback where she just looked like she was partying, a bit too heavily yes, but they didn't make her look like the addict she said she has been for a time. Anyway, I just wanted to give this idea a try even if it is more about Alex using a mix of sex and drugs to get over Piper.

It's pretty short and there are no dialogues, and probably this is just a stupid idea altogether.

I also didn't know under which genre I should have put this, AO3 is better that way, but I guess it is under hurt and comfort and general heartbreak.

Enjoy

* * *

The flavor coating your lips and enveloping your taste buds is too light and plain.

It lacks of that distinctive rich sweetness, that bold tanginess, that has never failed to make your inner muscle clench with an unforgiving stab of arousal, but you still scoop it up, as much of it as you can with the flat of your tongue, even if the taste isn't the one you are used to, even if the touch of the hands and the fingers carding through your hair and twitching and gripping and scratching your scalp feel too sure and confident, even if the sound that echoes around you when, as you pull back to suck that bud of nerves one more time in your mouth, flicking the tip of your tongue across it, and the body beneath yours tenses and spasms and arches with release, is a too loud high-pitched moan that scratches your ears.

It sounds wrong.

Just like everything else feels.

Although, in all the right ways given your purpose in this.

Paradoxically enough, it feels perfect actually.

Exactly what you have been looking for and what you need in your delusional strive to forget the hollowness in your chest, even if for just a little while.

Something that is proving hard, even with the aid of the x flooding through your veins and winding with the lingering traces of heroin in your bloodstream, heightening your senses and spiking up your sexual desire.

The arousal licks at you from inside like a devouring flame, enveloping you entirely, consuming everything in its wake, burning the air from your lungs until nothing exists but the insistent demanding throb between your legs, that travels all the way up to your spine and resonates in your head, along with the frenetic beats of your shattered heart.

You inch your way up a body that has unfamiliar planes and curves and dips you have no interest in learning, a chart you won't ever search again, but still take pleasure in exploring at the moment, appreciating the delicate tan on soft flawless skin and the generous breasts that feel so full and heavy in your hands, another incredibly foreign sensation.

Nonetheless, you suck hard and hungrily at their peaks, rutting greedily against the leg that slips as an offering between yours, smearing it with your juices until you grow wetter and so much more desperate for a direct touch that you don't even try to fight for the upper hand when you get suddenly rolled onto your back.

There is an oddly comforting relief in knowing that you don't have to actually show dominance. Not feeling the need to claim that has always burnt fiercely inside you with-

 _No..._

The abandonment, for once, feels less like selfishness and more like the distraction you are after.

Get high. Fuck a stranger in the anonymity of a hotel room that smells like cheap laundry detergent and bad choices seems just like the ultimate accomplishment in the _how much you have fucked up_ checklist. The carelessness tinged with shades of self-destructiveness that has taken residence in you ever since... all that happened, is so proud and revels in knowing how low and deep you have fallen, how you couldn't do anything more to disappoint your mother, and prove the words said by the one that had been the other most important woman in your life, more right than doing this.

 _Fuck her,_ you repeat once more in your head at the thought of her.

A mantra in your freefall into an oblivion that for how deep and dark, won't erase the memories of her, the bitter truth of her words, or the constant ache in your chest that not even the dangerous mix of drugs burning in your veins seem to be able to soothe.

Maybe you just need to dive deeper, and so, you pull the woman atop you down for a deep kiss that is too much tongue and teeth, lacing your fingers through auburn hair.

You keep going, swallowing the moans that escape, until you are bordering the realm of unconsciousness for lack of oxygen, making you even more lightheaded while the rest of your body flares at the feeling of those lips moving down your neck and lower, in between nips that are hard enough to make you groan and hiss.

The intent of that path aiming south is undoubtedly clear, and usually, you are not one to turn down the warmth of a mouth, the seal of lips and the touch of a slippery tongue on your sex when you are as wet and swollen and needy as you are right now, but, for how oddly contradictory it is of you, you don't think you are ready to feel the foreign touch of someone else's mouth pleasing you with something you have always considered so... deeply intimate.

It's different when you do it.

But receiving... You don't want to ponder it too much, instead, you pull her up again and guide her hand between your legs, suddenly fueled by another sharp spike in your own libido, because you always had a very strong one.

Two fingers slide eagerly and effortlessly inside of you, and a third one joins in when you demand it, because you want this to sting, want to feel the burn of the stretch, the jolt of pain that comes with the unaccustomed deep and hard penetration, only partially soothed by the heel of the palm rubbing circles against your straining clit with each thrust.

But pain and pleasure mingle together eventually, in such way that you can barely distinguish one from the other.

It's unfamiliar.

Harsh and sour, and you will probably feel its reminder in the morning, but that's what makes it so welcome.

Because it's nothing you have experienced with _her._

And yet, when you come, pushed over the edge by the thumb drawing circles over the sensitive point of your clit, clenching around the stinging fullness inside you as the tight coil in your lower belly unfurls with one last thrust, mingling with the cocktail of drugs still electrifying your nervous system, _her name,_ bitter and salty with the angry tears of hurt you refuse to spill, is still the one that falls from your lips. With the breathlessness of a dying litany.

The orgasm takes everything from you, which is incredibly liberating. But it's so hard and crashing that it burns the rest of the drugs out with its intensity, reducing them into fumes in your previously hazed mind, and once the fog settles, and you can think much more clearly, the weight of disappointment of how quickly it went is the first thing you feel spread inside you as the last waves of aftershock bring you back way too fast.

Tomorrow you'll try again.

Go out dancing maybe. Choose a woman with darker hair and darker eyes, whose smile doesn't dimple.

Stir something stronger in your drink, snort something extra to keep up with your already vigorous stamina.

Maybe this time you'll get the potion just right to make you forget a little longer about the aching bleeding tear in your chest that nothing seems to be able to heal.

Maybe it will just be enough to stop you from calling her fucking name again.

* * *

 **There. Alex probably came out a bit OOC but that's sort of the whole point in this, not acting like her usual self and all. Anyway, thanks for reading everyone.**


End file.
